The Mad Cat and her Hatter
by CobaltTungsten
Summary: Boring lives often make a person dream of living a grander life, but what if a change in a dream makes the person live a life worth dreaming of? (I should also note this is only the first draft, leave some ideas if you feel like it!)


'I promise, I will make you whole.' I said, resting my head against hers.

'Hatter, do not make promises you cannot keep.' She replied, I could hear that my words had touched her. My heart broke to hear it aloud, I had never wanted anything so badly. I wanted this promise to be one I could keep, I needed it like I needed air, passionately and enduringly. I held her close to me, my fingers tracing along her jawline then ran through her hair. I could almost smell her hair, the near hint of a strange yet familiar perfume. I gathered my courage to look into her eyes and reaffirm my promise, and as I opened my eyes I saw I stood alone in a field. Both my heart and hands grasped for what I had felt, I felt an ache inside myself when I could not recover it. A gentle breeze caressed my face and I could still nearly smell her faint perfume.

My alarm went off, bringing me crashing out of my dream. I sighed heavily to myself as I recounted my dream. I'd been having the same dream almost every night since I can remember. Most people would assume by now that the dream would have advanced in some way, but it's quite the contrary. Where it hasn't actually gone any further, it does seem to be in an almost higher detail, as if I'm actually able to perceive more in the dream. But the girl… who was she? I reached my arms out and could almost feel her, but I'd never once seen her.

'Hatter, do not make promises you cannot keep.' I can hear her voice clearly in my head. She sounded so sad, so devoid of hope, yet like she wanted to believe me.

Psychology, the study of the inner-workings of the human mind. But how am I supposed to understand the inner-workings of the human mind when I barely understand my own. I sit through these lectures in a classroom full of people with twice the interest in its sciences, and yet only half the interest when it comes down to the philosophy of it all. Science can cure ills and fix what's broken, but it can't comfort. Twice the brain, half the heart.

After class comes work. I hate my job… no seriously I hate it. Most people hate their jobs, I know, but with me it's more than just that. What's my job? I'm the guy who holds up the clipboard with names on it to a little night club called The Looking Glass, if they're name's on the list they get in. If it's not, they don't. No… I'm not the bouncer. Jacob Lyons to my right is. The man stands at a staggering 6'5, 320lbs of solid steel-like muscles. Seriously, this man looks like if he sneezed on you there would be a 10 inch hole going straight through you just from the pressurized awesome escaping him. Realistically, the only thing that makes this guy not overly intimidating is the permanent smile plastered to his face.

My 5'6 frame, 230lbs, is far less intimidating. And no, I'm not fat OR big boned. I'm built like my dad's side of the family, short and broad. If you've ever mistaken someone on the side of the road as a small building, you've probably met someone in my family. I'll admit, I get hit on a lot by women in my line of work, only problem with it is how superficial it really is. They only want in, and I'm the guy who can give them a pass, so it doesn't take a genius to put two and two together. I normally just turn all sorts of people away for various reasons, and it's not always because they weren't on the list. I have this talent for being able to sniff out the freaks before they get inside.

My friend Lyons and I were actually going to this very same club one night about three years ago, when I got the eerie feeling that something was quite right. The man ahead of us just seemed… wrong. He looked alright, the typical club-sleaze form of alright, but he looked alright. I was able to get Lyons attention and pointed to the guy in front of us, giving him the 'This guy's wrong' look, and almost immediately Lyons struck up a brief conversation with him. About ten seconds in some words were said, then there was a little bit of action, followed by a ton of chaos and some screaming… something about a gun… then there was Lyons literally holding the man down by standing on him with one leg. Lyons just grinned like an idiot while I watched. Oddly enough, that was the day I got hired and my first night. Go figure. Obviously enough, they hired Lyons on with me.

This was pretty much my routine of every weekday. School, chores/homework, work, sleep. School, chores/homework, work, sleep. Day in and day out. Most people would think you'd go a little nuts after a while, but not me. I enjoy the routine, as simplistic and unremarkable as it is, I do enjoy it.

"You need to get out more." Lyons said to me as he cut into his steak.

"I get out enough as it is. I go to school AND I work at a club, I get out a ton." I retorted, angrily cutting into my rainbow trout.

"Tom, you need to get out there more."

"And do what?"

"I don't know, go to the movies or something." I half-heartedly chuckled.

"Movies are where you go when you have someone to bring." I said, hoping he'd just back off.

"Well then, bring someone. Anyone really. What about Assandra, the cute woman who works at the bar in the club? She's taken quite an interest in you lately."

"I think you're confused buddy. She's looking at you, but since I'm short and stand next to you she's looking over me." Lyons pointed a finger at me before responding. Looking up, I was seriously surprised to see how angry he was.

"You can keep making excuses all you want. Keep making them to me, keep making them to yourself, heck keep making them to everyone else around you. But if you want women to stop looking through you like you're made of glass you have to have substance. Be someone." I honestly didn't know what to say. I wasn't even sure if I wanted to swallow the food in my mouth he was so intense. I had to admit it though, Lyons was right. I didn't have a life outside my routine because I had no one outside my routine, but I didn't have anyone outside my routine because I had no life outside my routine.

"I'm sorry Lyons, it's just been hard."

"We all have it hard, some harder than others, but in the end what makes people great is to not let it get them down forever. You can be someone, Tom, someone who if he stood behind even me, the woman would look right through me and see you." He said half-smiling.

"You really think so Lyons?"

"Yeah, of course. Well, except the see through me thing. Let's face it, between you and me I got the looks."

"You may have the looks, but I have the talent."

"My good friend, you don't need talent when you look like this."

After sitting through another lecture from the most engaging Psychology Professor I'd ever had, I found myself at a bit of a loss… as I usually was after his lesson. It's not that he didn't teach well, quite the contrary, he taught maybe too well. His methods were obtuse, doing everything he can to lure us in. Instead of always ranting and lecturing to the room, he would say something simple, then question it, then ask it to the class. If no one engaged him then he would just pick someone.

'Come on guys! That wad of meat between your ears is used for more than just music and movies.' He had a lot of things to say to us, both personal and not. He wanted us not to just give him answers, but to ask questions on our own accord. Learning by engaging. 'If a bear is chasing you in the woods and your initial response is to stand there and panic what type of reaction is it called, Tom?'

'One that will get you killed.'

'This is why no one copies your homework Tom.'

I found my way easily enough to his office. I had been in there often enough I could have walked there blindfolded. Although, today he seemed busy, if not a little flustered. I didn't like the thought of maybe being a nuisance, so I debated leaving and coming back the next day.

'Hatter…' I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard the whisper in my ear. I looked around, but the nearest person from me was practically out of shout-distance, let alone being able to whisper into my ear. I knew that voice though…

"Tom! What are you out here for?" That time I did jump. How does a man of his… caliber… sneak up on anyone? I turned to face him, he looked quite amused with himself.

"Actually I had some questions."

"About the assignment?"

"No, more about how Psychologists want to argue that someone who's an Idiot Savant can't perform works of art because they're merely replicating what they've heard. I'm not sure I completely understand their logic. If I copied stroke-for-stroke a painting by Van Gogh, does that mean I'm not an artist myself? Or is it because they are lower-functioning and cannot understand, or perhaps not appreciate it as well as we can?" Professor Terry smiled and ushered me into his office.


End file.
